Asshole
by Utsukushiookami
Summary: This is a twisted Cartman/Kyle fic. Rated M for possible later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is something that I was working on for NaNoWriMo, but didn't finish. I didn't make NaNoWriMo, but I thought that I would put this up on my Da [X-insomnicidalTaru-X] and someone on there kindly suggested that I put it up here, so I did. This is not my first fanfiction, but I had a damned hard time figuring out how to upload anything on here before. XD I have more fics on my DA.**

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"You know, I honestly don't understand why you don't just fuck him and get it over with." Kenny stated flatly, not looking up from his porn mag. Cartman turned to look at him from his sideways sitting position, not surprised that his friend could tell he was staring at Kyle without actually looking at them, nor that he was reading a porn mag in the school library.

When Kenny made statements like those, Cartman wondered whether or not the blonde was really their friend, or if he just hung out with them because it was so habitual. Cartman gave him a bored look, then slid his eyes back over to the unknowing object of his [rather twisted] affections before answering.

"You know that's not my style, Kenny." Kenny turned the page.

"Oh yeah, I forget you get off on mindfuck." One side of Cartman's mouth quirked up into a slight grin. Kenny glanced up in time to see it, taking in the look, expression unchanging as he contemplated his two friends.

Cartman watched Kyle and Stan talk and laugh, a certain amount of jealousy creeping into his conscious, belied by his ever calm exterior. Not that he would ever -could ever- let Kyle know how he'd felt about him since the 7th grade. Cartman mentally snorted at the sappy dialogue playing in his own head. Having always prided himself on being an apathetic asshole, such thoughts simply weren't allowed. He turned at the agitated sigh from his companion.

"Dude, this is gay. I'm tired of watching you oggle your boy crush. I'm ditching, you in?" Kenny said, closing his magazine and jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the entrance of the library. Cartman nodded, gathering up his worn and torn bag, casually slinging it over his shoulder as he and Kenny left.

One of the few benefits of hanging out with Cartman was that, due to his size, crowds naturally parted for him. Even though he was only two inches taller than Kenny at 6' 5", he was a lot heavier. Where Kenny was lean, Cartman was large and bulky, though most of his fat had converted to muscle when he'd decided he liked football. When he was a kid, everyone had just thought that his twisted selfishness was just annoying, as they also knew he was a wuss and wouldn't physically do anything to them, but now that he was both large and _strong_, people tended to give him a wide girth, as he'd proven to still be twisted and unstable. The only people that seemed to be safe from his ire were the only people that had surprisingly stuck with him through childhood; Stan, Kyle and Kenny. And Craig, but that was only because he was so unaffected by everything, and was possibly the only person who could kick Cartman's ass, even though he was way scrawnier.

Kenny and Cartman made their way outside to Cartman's black F150 truck, which was their usual getaway car whenever they ditched. Cartman rummaged in his pockets for the keys, then unlocked the car. They both climbed in and Cartman started it, the Offspring immediately blasting from his stereo. Kenny delved into his pocket, extruding his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He pulled two out, replacing the box, and lighting them up, one after the other. He stuck one in his mouth and offered Cartman the other, who took it without comment. They both puffed silently as the radio blared, Kenny looking expressionlessly out the window.

Ten minutes later, Cartman pulled into the McDonald's they always went to. He parked the truck, making sure to take up two spaces and he and Kenny got out, taking their last drags of their cigarettes, then they dropped them to the ground and stomped them out. They went in, ordered the same thing they always did and sat in the same spot they always sat.

Cartman looked up when Kenny sighed from across the table. "What?" He asked

"Man, this is getting repetitive. And sad." Kenny said, leaning back in the booth. Cartman considered him for a moment, then started on his second quarter-pounder without comment.

"Dude, I mean, what's the point of ditching if we do the same damn thing every time?" Kenny continued. Cartman shrugged, not really even listening, thinking to himself that Kenny was being a whiny bitch, and willing him to stop talking so he could eat in peace. Kenny looked up and took in Cartman's unconcerned expression and resumed eating the last of his fries. "Whatever, man." They continued to eat in silence, although Cartman started to mull over what Kenny had said.

Their ditch days had indeed become routine and boring. However, while he was sure that Kenny just wanted to find a new hang out spot, or something else to do to bide their time until school let out and they went home, Cartman wanted to find something _else_ to do. It wasn't just the ditch days that were boring him, it was pretty much his life as a whole. All he did was get up, go to school, sometimes ditch, go home, plop himself either in front of his t.v or computer, eat dinner, then go to bed. He hadn't had a girl since he and that fat bitch Henrietta had broken up after a brief fling a year ago, and even masturbation had lost its fun. He needed _something_.

Kenny waved a hand impatiently in front of his face. "Dude, you listening? School's over, let's go." Cartman grunted in response, shoved the last of his burger in his mouth, then gathered up his tray, lazily dumping the contents in the garbage on the way out. Kenny followed suit as they headed back to his truck.

They drove back to the school, Cartman dropped Kenny off by his beat up and rusted blue '96 Ford Fusion that was about on its last leg, then started home. The route had become so habitual that he could divide half his attention to the road and still make it home. As he drove, he thought again about what Kenny had said, about the rut they had fallen into. He thought about what he could do that would make his life less boring. Cartman stopped at a red light and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. A bit of red ahead of him caught his attention, and he rolled his eyes over to it. It was a red Chrystler 300. Huh. Didn't Kyle drive one of those? In fact, the passenger door was wide open.

Weird, Jew boy wouldn't ever leave his car parked haphazardly like that, and he definitely wouldn't ever leave it unlocked. Unconcerned, Cartman waited until the light turned green, then he casually drove up to Kyle's car and parked behind it. He turned his car off, then reached behind him and grabbed a wrench that he had in his back seat for the odd occasion that he should need to fix something with the car. He sensed trouble and got out. He slammed the door, not caring who heard, and immediately was assailed with the sounds of a fight. There were at least three male voices, all yelling, two of them menacing, one of them angry.

Cartman recognized the angry voice as Kyle's. He nonchalantly walked to the narrow alleyway between Tom's Rhinoplasty and the [strategically placed?] butcher shop next to it, swinging the wrench on his finger. When he got to the alley's mouth, he saw a sight that interested him. A bloodied and injured Kyle was being held up by a tall man wearing a dark hoodie who's face was covered by the stereotypical black ski mask. A shorter man dressed similarly held a knife threateningly to the side of Kyle's neck. Cartman rolled his eyes and mentally scoffed. _Amateurs._

Kyle looked angry, his jaw set and his face red as he looked his assailant in the face. However, his knees sagged, showing how weak he was. Cartman could also see a hint of fear in his eyes as the man continued to threaten him. Deciding that he didn't want to explain to that idiot Officer Barbrady why he had been at the scene of a murder, he loudly cleared his throat.

It was almost comical; all three simultaneously jerked their heads in his direction and froze. The two assailants looked slightly panicked, and Kyle's expression was a mix of disgust and shock, as if he was thinking _why you?_ Cartman had to admit, he liked the way Kyle looked with his clothes torn and dirtied, his face bloody, swollen and dirty as well, a look of stubborn indignation on his face.

Cartman smiled. He'd found _something_.

"What the fuck are you smiling at, fatass?" The short, knife-wilding man snarled, whipping around to brandish his knife at Cartman. Cartman actually scoffed.

"Oh, just thinking that I'm _really_ going to enjoy this." He said casually, swinging the wrench again. The man snarled, then rushed him, the knife held in front of him. Cartman easily side-stepped him, grabbed his wrist, then jabbed the man in the face with his elbow. The momentum with which the man had been going made him slam into it hard. The high pitched scream that was emitted told Cartman that he'd probably broken his nose. Smiling almost sadistically, Cartman pressed a pressure point in the man's wrist and his fingers went limp, dropping the knife. He then brought the wrench down on the back of the man's head with a satisfying crunch, effectively sending him to the ground where he lay unmoving.

"You fucking killed him!" The other man yelled, shoving Kyle to the side where he fell to the ground. He sat up, too weak to do anything but glare at the man and pant heavily.

"Nah, I just incapacitated him a bit." Cartman said in a cocky tone, his sadistic smile now full-fledged as he resumed twirling his now slightly bloodied wrench. Kyle shuddered. He'd never seen that look on Cartman's face before. He didn't like it. It was the kind of look that people who could kill without a second thought had.

The taller man ran at Cartman, his hands balled up into fists. Right when he reached him, Cartman reached out, catching the man in the stomach with the wrench. The man grunted, but seemed mildly unaffected. He grabbed Cartman's shoulders, pulling him down and ramming his head against Cartman's. Cartman reeled, feeling slightly dizzy. He could feel a trickle of blood start to travel down his face from his hair line. _How the fuck?_ He thought, wondering how a head hitting a head could make a cut. He didn't have much time to think about it though, because the man chose that moment to rush him, grabbing him and tackling him to the ground a few feet away from his unconscious accomplice. He landed on top of Cartman and landed blow after blow to his face.

Refusing to be bested, Cartman quickly grabbed the man by the shirt, brought his legs up under his stomach and used them to flip the man over his head and onto the pavement, letting go of his shirt just before he hit the ground. He heard a dull thud before he quickly rolled over and got back to his feet, wiping the blood from his head and mouth, ignoring the throbbing pain in his face. He saw the blood pooling beneath the man's head and surmised that his head hitting the cement had been the thud he'd heard, and that the man had knocked himself out. Or possibly killed himself, either worked for him. He stood over the two men, calmly twirling his wrench.

_Better make sure he can't get away._ Cartman thought, one side of his mouth curling up into a twisted smile as he brought the wrench down hard on the larger man's kneecap. He straightened up, then brought it back down again, this time hearing a loud cracking sound. _Good._

Cartman turned around to Kyle and saw that he was now laying on the ground, unconscious. _Huh. Must've passed out."_ He thought mildly as he whipped out his cell phone. He dialed a number that he used only when he needed discretion.

"What?" A low, slightly nasally voice said.

"Craig, you home?" Cartman asked, walking over to Kyle's comatose body.

"Yeah, why?" Craig asked suspiciously.

"I need you to do something for me." Craig sighed.

"What?" He asked.

"I need you to pick up Clyde. Then I need you two to come to the alley between Big Meats and Tom's Rhinoplasty. Kyle's car is parked in front of Tom's. I need one of you to drive his car to my house. I'll leave his keys in the glove box. I also need you to report what you see in the alleyway to the police. Got that?" Cartman knew that the idiot cops in this town wouldn't even ask questions. They'd see that one of them had a knife and that there'd been a struggle and they would just throw their asses in jail. What a town they lived in.

There was a pause, then Craig let out a very put-upon sigh, as if he could be doing something better.

"Yeah, we'll be there in ten."

"Good." Cartman said, hanging up. It was a good thing both Craig and Clyde lived just down the street from Tom's. Cartman dialed another number in his phone. He waited while it rang. After a few rings, he heard a click.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Broflovski." Cartman said in a sugary sweet voice.

"Oh, well hello there, Eric." Sheila replied pleasantly. Cartman mentally scoffed at the amount of trust she had in him, considering he'd been a complete dick to her son for most of his life. But then, she was pretty damned stupid.

"Mrs. Broflovski, I heard that you and Mr. Broflovski are going on vacation this weekend?" He asked, trying to sound interested.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Broflovski and I are going to spend the next two months in Paris for our second honeymoon. Oh, it's going to be wonderful!" She said dreamily. _How convenient_. Cartman thought, smiling.

"Wow, Mrs. Broflovski, that sounds great." Cartman said, feigning interest.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with the boys, though. I just don't like the idea of them being all alone in that house, and no one we know around here could take them." She said, sounding worried. _Wow, you are making this _way_ too easy.__Thank you, overprotective mothers._ Cartman thought.

"Well, actually, Mrs. Broflovski, that's what I was calling about. In light of your honeymoon, I was wondering if Kyle could come stay with me? You know, I could keep him from getting lonely." If Cartman's voice got any sweeter, he was going to give himself diabetes.

"Oh, well that's a wonderful idea, Eric! I'm sure Kyle would like that. He hasn't come home from school yet, but I'll tell him when he gets home. I suppose Ike can stay with his aunt in Denver since it's almost summer vacation."

"Actually, Mrs. Broflovski, Kyle's with me right now. I'm behind in some of my homework, and since it's Friday, we thought he could come over and help me with it. He says he meant to call and tell you, but he lost track of time." Cartman tried to sound apologetic, all the while wanting to gag on the bile that he couldn't believe was coming out of his mouth.

"That's just fine, dear. Well, since we leave tomorrow night anyway, why doesn't he just spend the night tonight as well? Would that be okay with your mother?" She asked. _Like my mom gives a shit. She's probably not even gonna be there. Cartman thought, rolling his eyes._

"Oh, sure, Mrs. Broflovski. I'm sure Mom'll be fine with it." He said, pouring on the honey.

"Okay, dear. Thank you for letting Kyle stay at your house while we're gone. We really appreciate it, hon."

"No problem, Mrs. Broflovski." Cartman said, trying to hurry the conversation along.

"Okay, well tell him we'll call him tomorrow before we leave, and he can go back to the house to get his clothes and things anytime."

"Okay, will do."

"Thanks again, hon."

"Sure, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Bye now."

"Bye." They hung up and Cartman pocketed his phone. "Stupid bitch." He muttered as he stuck the wrench in his back pocket and hoisted Kyle to his feet. He slung Kyle's arm over his shoulder and grabbed him by the waist, dragging him to his car. He set Kyle down briefly in the seat, and rummaged around in his pockets for the car keys. He found them and threw them in the glove box, then gathered Kyle up again and dragged him to his truck.


	2. Chapter 2

He set Kyle inside, buckling his seatbelt then climbed in the driver's side and started the truck. He drove to his house and immediately noticed that his mom's car was gone. _God, everyone was just making this too easy_. He thought. It was almost suspiciously easy, as if everyone were making it seem so easy so that they could somehow trick him later. Whatever.

He got out of the car, unbuckled Kyle and pulled him out, then slung him over his broad shoulder, and carried him into the house, placing a hand on his lower back to keep him from sliding off. The first thing he saw when he entered was a post-it note on the t.v. He walked over to it and ripped it off with his free hand.

_Poopsiekins,_

_I'm going to be working this weekend and probably won't be home. _

_There's plenty of food in the refrigerator, and I left you some money_

_In case you want to order pizza._

_See you on Monday._

_Love,_

_Mom._

Cartman's lip curled in disgust. _Love._ Yeah fucking right. If she loved him, then she'd get a real fucking job instead of whoring herself out. It pissed him off that she was still so selfish. And she _seriously_ thought he still didn't know what she did for a living. He'd found out when he was nine, for chrissakes. But in her mind, he was still a little kid. Well, whatever. At least the bitch wouldn't be home this weekend.

Cartman crumpled the note and tossed it in the garbage on the way upstairs to his room. Once there, he lay Kyle down on his bed, not caring whether or not he was gentle. He sat down in his computer chair and looked Kyle over. One side of his mouth was swollen, a small trail of dried blood running almost to his chin. His right eye was very swollen and red and was already starting to bruise. There was dried blood caked in his red hair, a shallow cut on his neck, [presumably from where the shorter assailant had held the knife to it earlier] and an angry looking welt was forming on the side of his face.

Cartman removed Kyle's coat and shirt and saw more large welts on his chest and stomach. It looked like they'd punched him repeatedly. He ran a hand over Kyle's ribcage, checking for broken ribs. He didn't feel any tell-tale signs, but he suspected one or two of them might be cracked or fractured, though he wouldn't know until Kyle woke up. He was about to replace Kyle's shirt when he looked down and saw that Kyle's jeans were soaked through with blood.

He undid Kyle's pants and shoved them down to his knees. On Kyle's thigh was a long, deep cut that was still bleeding. Grumbling to himself, Cartman got up and went to the hall closet where the First aid kit was. He brought it back to his room and opened it, extracting a small bottle of peroxide, a few cotton swabs, and some gauze. He roughly cleaned the wounds on Kyle's face using the peroxide, then cleaned and dressed the wound on his leg. He sat back and examined Kyle, then decided he should get the blood out of his hair. He picked Kyle up again and took him to the bathroom.

Setting him down on the floor, he leaned Kyle up against the wall and turned on the cold water in the bathtub. He switched the water to run from the shower head and pulled it from its bracket on the wall. He pulled Kyle to him and leaned him backwards over the tub and began washing the blood out of his hair. He resisted the urge to pull on the boy's hair as he washed it. He glanced down at Kyle's face.

Even comatose and beaten to hell the boy was attractive. His features, though pale from blood loss, were lean and defined, almost feminine but for his slightly elongated nose. His full lips were parted slightly, revealing his annoyingly white teeth. Somehow is hair managed to curl in a way that actually didn't look horrible, and the deep red complimented his blue-green eyes. He was also on the swim team and had the body to show for it. Cartman almost envied Kyle's lean figure, though he himself valued muscle over slimness. No point in having a nice body if you get the shit beat out of you.

He finished washing Kyle's hair and grabbed a towel from the wrack. He dried Kyle's hair enough so that it wouldn't drip, then took him back to his room. He put him back on his bed and parted his hair to examine his head. There were a few small nicks here and there, but nothing serious. Good. One less thing he had to take care of. Suddenly, he had a thought.

He went to Kyle's discarded pants and searched the pockets. He found Kyle's phone and extracted it. He flipped it open and saw that Kyle had fourteen messages. Jesus Christ, didn't anyone have a life? He went to Kyle's inbox and saw that four were from Ike [who the fuck gives a nine-year old a cell phone?], six from Stan, one from Kenny, one from Rebecca [he still talked to her?] and two from Craig. He decided to read Ike's first.

_Dude, Kyle, you know that one chick in my class? The fat girl? I got partnered up with her on some stupid science project at school._

_1:53 p.m_

_Kyle?_

_1:57 p.m_

_Are you ignoring me? Cos if you are, I'm telling Mom._

_2:05 p.m_

_Oh. Mom said you're over at fatass's. You're _actually_ helping him study? I thought he was too stupid to study. So this means I'm not going to see you before Mom and Dad leave?_

_3:15 p.m_

Jeez, what a whiny little bitch. Cartman thought irritably. Again, who the fuck gives a nine-year old a cell phone? He hit the reply button.

_Sorry, Ike, took forever to teach Cartman the stuff he needed for his stupid Trig homework. I swear to god, I don't even know how he made it to Trig. He doesn't understand _any _of this. He's such an idiot. _In fact, he did. Cartman was actually really good at all of the required classes, he just didn't ever let anyone know about it. It wasn't that big a deal to him, anyway, being at the top of the class. It really didn't affect him either way, unlike Kyle, who strived to be the smartest. It got really irritating sometimes.

Cartman hit _send_ and moved on to Stan's messages, which consisted mostly of a bunch of random crap, then a few messages of _Dude, where are you? Are you okay? _Jesus, Stan, what are you, his girlfriend? Needy fag. He replied to Stan's, Kenny's, Rebecca's and Craig's messages with his best "Kyle" responses, then turned off the phone and stuck it in his pocket. He then went downstairs to make a few phone calls of his own and see what he would make for dinner.

Kyle slowly woke up and immediately regretted it. His whole body hurt, and for some reason, his hair was wet. He groaned as he tried to open his eyes, succeeding in getting one open. The other one seemed swollen and hurt like hell, so he gave up on it. The first things he noticed were that he was no longer in the alleyway, or his bedroom for that matter, and that he was naked except for his boxers and socks. The next things he noticed were that his leg was bandaged, and that he recognized this room, though he couldn't quite...oh shit. Oh. _Shit_.

The fact that he was in Cartman's room with his pants off worried him. Why the fuck was he here, and why were his pants off? Had Cartman...no, it was just because of his wound. That had to be it. But then, why didn't he put his pants back on? ...Oh. They must have bled through. That still didn't explain why Cartman hadn't just taken him home or to the hospital. Why here? Cartman walked in as he finished that thought. He was holding a bowl with a spoon sticking out of it. Kyle didn't know what he thought was in that bowl, but the sight of it made him panic...until he saw Cartman's face. He had a little bit of dried blood on his forehead, his lip was split, and he had a black eye. _Did he get that...defending me?_ Kyle felt a bit embarrassed and humbled, but didn't say anything. He was more worried about what was in the bowl.

"Oh, you're up. You want some soup?" Cartman asked, sounding a little bored. _Soup_? Cartman made...what the hell was going on here? He eyed Cartman wearily. Cartman rolled his eyes at him.

"I didn't poison it. If I killed you, then who would I torture?" Kyle raised an eyebrow at him, but pushed himself into a sitting position [groaning mentally at the protest his body gave him] and reached for the soup. Cartman handed it to him and plopped down in his computer chair, swivelling around to the monitor as he reached down and turned the computer on. Kyle eyed the soup.

It was beef and vegetable, but it looked homemade. He took a tentative sip. It was good. _Really _good. Some how it seemed a fitting contradiction that Cartman could cook. _I guess it makes sense. His mom's never home._ Kyle thought as he ate a chunk of beef. Cartman glanced over at him, and he saw a quick gleam in his eyes, as if he was pleased that Kyle seemed to like his cooking. Strange, he wouldn't have thought that Cartman would have cared if he was a good cook or not. Cartman got the computer running and clicked the internet icon. Kyle sighed and put the spoon down.

"So...why am I here?" He asked, looking over at Cartman. Cartman answered without looking at him.

"Well, when a Mommy and a Daddy really love each other-"

"You know what I mean, fatass." Kyle cut him off, rolling his eyes.

"Because I saved your ass. By the way, I didn't hear a 'thank you'." That high-handed attitude was starting to pissed Kyle off.

"Thank you." He said through gritted teeth. "Now tell me why I'm here and not home or in the hospital." Cartman shrugged, raising an eyebrow at something he saw on the computer.

"Iunno. Felt like taking you here." Kyle stared at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, ok, so instead of taking an injured person to the hospital, you take them to your house and feed them soup. That makes total sense." The words dripped with sarcasm.

"I've got a doctor making a house call." Cartman said, waving away Kyle's concern. Great. Just great. Knowing Cartman, he'd hired the shittiest doctor he could find. He'd probably jab him with a rusty needle and give him some new form of Cancer or AIDS or something, telling him it was morphine. That's just what he needed; to die at 18. He said nothing and took another sip of the soup.

"So what happened? Did you piss someone off by being too insufferable?" Cartman asked as he clicked on something. Kyle glared at him. Cartman glanced at him, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a goading grin, then his gaze flicked back to the monitor.

"No, I was stopped on the side of the road because my radio was being retarded and I had to fix it, and those guys came out of nowhere. That short asshole opened my door and held the knife to my face to distract me while the tall son of a bitch pulled me out through the passenger side. They pulled me into the alley and started assaulting me." He left out the part where they had told him they wanted to fuck him and he had kicked the short one, which caused the large one to hold him while the short one tried to take his pants off. Kyle had fought hard, and apparently having had enough, the short one had slashed his leg to get him to stop kicking, and began beating him.

Cartman gave him a critical look. "And you didn't lock your doors? Tsk, tsk, Jew boy. I thought that was the first chapter in the Jewish handbook of idiocracy: how not to get raped in an alleyway." Kyle's eyes darkened.

"I wasn't raped!" He snapped. Cartman smirked at him.

"But I'll bet they tried." Kyle turned his head away, saying nothing. Cartman returned to the monitor, smiling satisfactorily. At that moment, they heard a faint knock on the front door. Cartman got up and went downstairs to answer it, leaving Kyle to angrily eat the rest of his soup.

Cartman opened the door and was greeted by his family doctor, Dr. Cutlippe, with a large black messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He was a few inches shorter than Cartman, with short, neatly combed brown hair, kind hazel eyes, and some scruff on his chin. Cartman reflected briefly on how weird it was to see him with just a black v-neck sweater, jeans and sneakers. Dr. Cutlippe smiled at him pleasantly, though his eyes expressed concern about Cartman's face. He didn't voice his concern, though, because Cartman had already given him a bullshit excuse about some fight at school, and that's how he and Kyle were injured. Kyle had been the victim, and Cartman had happened upon it, then stepped in. One of the kids had a knife and had gotten Kyle with it. Even though Dr. Cutlippe had offered to look at Cartman as well, Cartman had been just _so much_ more concerned about Kyle.

"Hello, Eric. I see you're doing well. Other than your face, of course." Dr. Cutlippe said pleasantly.

"Yeah." Cartman grunted. This didn't deter Dr. Cutlippe.

"No other injuries from football or anything?" He asked, grabbing Cartman's arm and feeling along his shoulder. Cartman sighed, but let Dr. Cutlippe look him over.

"No. We just ended the season." He said.

"Oh, well alright then." Dr. Cutlippe said, seeming pleased as he released Cartman and stepped back. "Where's this friend of yours?" He asked. Cartman turned and led him upstairs to his room just as Kyle finished the last of the soup. Kyle froze with an almost comical deer in the headlights look on his face. He looked from Cartman to Dr. Cutlippe, as if thinking _you bastard._

_Dr. Cutlippe approached Kyle, smiling pleasantly. Kyle looked fearful as he scooted back against Cartman's headboard. Cartman watched him, secretly delighted by his panicked mannerisms. Dr. Cutlippe lowered the bag and knelt by the bed. Cartman reclaimed his spot at his computer, minimizing the internet window so he could watch Dr. Cutlippe examine Kyle. Dr. Cutlippe noticed Kyle's wide-eyed expression and smiled reassuringly._


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm not gonna eat you, son." Kyle smiled nervously, eyes flicking almost constantly from Dr. Cutlippe to Cartman. "What's your name?" Kyle hesitated a moment before answering.

"Kyle." He said.

"Hi Kyle, I'm Dr. Cutlippe." Again, Kyle smiled nervously. Dr. Cutlippe reached into his bag and pulled out a stethoscope and a professional looking first-aid kit. He glanced at Kyle's leg and smiled. "I see Eric's already patched you up a bit." He continued when Kyle didn't respond. "Okay, what I'm going to do first is just make sure everything's working right. I'm going to check your heart rate. Can you lean forward a bit for me?" Kyle hesitantly did as he was told. Dr. Cutlippe attached the stethoscope to his ears and pressed the metal end to Kyle's chest. Kyle jerked slightly, obviously not suspecting the metal to be that cold on his bare chest.

"Deep breath." Dr. Cutlippe said soothingly. Kyle took a deep breath. "Good, now exhale." Kyle exhaled and Dr. Cutlippe moved the stethoscope to another spot. He repeated the instructions two more times before he put the stethoscope away.

"Okay, everything sounds good. Now I'm just going to feel for any breaks or fractures. Now, if you have any broken bones, you'll have to go to the hospital and get X-Rays done." He said. Kyle nodded, looking hopeful. Dr. Cutlippe started first with Kyle's fingers, gently squeezing each one between his own. He deemed them fine, save for a few cuts on Kyle's knuckles where they'd most likely made contact with his assailants, and moved up his arms and shoulders, all the while being gentle and professional. Kyle relaxed a degree, leaning back against the headboard.

He took a moment to gently prod Kyle's collarbone, then moved down to his ribs. Everything was fine until he reached the middle of the ribcage. Kyle let out a short cry of pain, and Dr. Cutlippe's eyebrows furrowed in concern. He touched the spot again, and Kyle made an odd, strangled noise.

"Hmm...Doesn't feel like it's broken, but it looks like it might be badly bruised." Dr. Cutlippe continued down Kyle's body down to his ankles and deemed nothing broken or sprained.

"Now, I don't normally do this on house calls, but Eric was very adamant about doing this now. I'm going to take this bandage off your leg and give you some stitches." At the word 'stitches', Kyle immediately tensed up. Dr. Cutlippe put a hand on his arm reassuringly.

"Don't worry, I've brought a mild anaesthetic with me. It won't put you under, but it will numb you up so you won't feel the stitches." Kyle nodded, looking like he was going to bolt, but seeming to realize that he didn't have the strength for it. Dr. Cutlippe removed a long, thin, cylindrical black case, a jar with some sort of liquid inside, and small cloth from his bag. He opened the case and extracted a syringe, then used the cloth [which smelled like it had been pre-soaked in some kind of cleaning chemical] to thoroughly wipe the syringe. He waited about 30 seconds, then opened the jar. He then dipped the syringe in the jar and filled it about halfway with the liquid. He closed the jar, then rooted around in his bag, extracting another cloth. He put the cloth on Cartman's desk and set the syringe on top of it, then moved to sit beside Kyle on the bed.

He leaned over Kyle and began unwrapping his leg. Kyle took in a sharp intake of breath. Both probably from pain, and from the sight of the ugly, deep cut surrounded by reddened skin, signifying infection. Dr. Cutlippe tsked sympathetically, and opened up his first aid kit. He pulled out an alcohol wipe.

"This is gonna hurt, but it has to be done." He warned Kyle before slowly swiping the wound. Kyle pinched his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, trying not to make a sound. Cartman glanced from the wound to Kyle's face his mouth turned up into a twisted smile that neither Dr. Cutlippe nor Kyle could see. Dr. Cutlippe made sure to get the whole wound, then threw the slightly bloodied swab away. He picked up the syringe again.

"Ok, Kyle, I'm going to give you the anaesthetic now." Kyle nodded again, his eyes still closed. Dr. Cutlippe carefully inserted the needle into Kyle's leg, near the wound, and squeezed the end, injecting the anaesthetic. Kyle seemed to hold his breath the entire time the needle was in his leg. He slowly exhaled when the needle was extracted.

_What a damned pussy_. Cartman thought, rolling his eyes. While the anaesthetic set in, Dr. Cutlippe cleaned and replaced the needle and threw away the cloth it had been resting on, then rummaged in his first aid kit for a small needle and sutures. He pulled out another alcohol swab and wiped the needle down with it. He threaded the needle, then turned to Kyle. He pinched Kyle's skin near the wound. Kyle didn't even flinch.

"Did you feel anything?" Dr. Cutlippe asked, pinching a different spot and watching Kyle's face. Kyle shook his head.

"Ok, I'm going to sew you up now." He told Kyle, waiting until he got a hesitant nod of approval before starting. Kyle immediately closed his eyes and his shoulders tensed up, though Cartman knew he couldn't feel it. Cartman leaned forward in his chair almost eagerly, his eyes glittering maliciously as he watched the needle enter Kyle's skin, pulling the thick thread through, then retreat, pulling the pieces of flesh together tightly. In and out. In and out. He watched the methodic process until the end in morbid fascination.

Since Kyle couldn't feel when the doctor had finished, he kept his eyes shut until Dr. Cutlippe shook his arm gently. Kyle opened his eyes and looked at Dr. Cutlippe, then down at his leg. He tried to hide the disgusted look on his face.

"Okay, now, you're going to have to go to the hospital in two weeks and get these removed. Also, I don't want you moving around too much because of your ribs. Just lay back and relax as much as you can for the next two to three weeks. You really should have gone to the hospital." Dr. Cutlippe said, giving Cartman a meaningful look. Cartman shrugged and smiled, which Kyle found mildly disturbing. He assumed that he'd given an explanation to Dr. Cutlippe that seemed sufficient enough for him to actually come to Cartman's house and treat him there, instead of either insisting he go to the hospital, or taking him there himself, and Kyle was afraid to find out what that explanation was.

Dr. Cutlippe reached into his bag and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Kyle, waiting to explain until after he'd returned everything to his bag. "Here's my card. It's got my office number and my e-mail on it in case you need anything. Be _sure_ to call me if anything gets worse." He said, patting Kyle on the leg before getting up to leave. He started out the door and motioned Cartman to follow him.

Kyle was sad to see him go. He had been surprisingly kind and professional, not at all what he'd been expecting from Cartman, which made him all the more suspicious. Why would Cartman _actually_ enlist a nice, competent doctor to patch up someone he supposedly hated? That didn't make any sense. Not that Kyle wasn't glad that he hadn't had some rusty needle jabbed right into the wound, or somewhere useless, or had more wounds inflicted or something, but it was still incredibly odd. Besides, now he'd be stuck with...Cartman.

Dr. Cutlippe and Cartman left the room, leaving Kyle to examine his leg. Cartman followed Dr. Cutlippe to the door. Once there, Dr. Cutlippe turned and faced Cartman with a concerned look on his face.

"Eric, you really should take him to the hospital. Technically, I shouldn't have even worked on something that bad in at a residence, but since you were so adamant about not taking him to the hospital..." Dr. Cutlippe trailed off meaningfully, obviously waiting for the explanation that Cartman wasn't going to give. Cartman smiled sheepishly at Dr. Cutlippe, mentally rolling his eyes at the load of crap he was getting.

"Well, I told you his parents are going on vacation tomorrow, and I didn't want to ruin it for them by having them have to stay and take care of their son when I could do it. I mean, he's practically like a brother to me, and you know I've had a lot of practice taking care of people." Yeah, all the times his mom had almost gotten alcohol poisoning because she'd drunk herself into a depressed stupor after a week at "work," Or the times she'd gotten a violent client who'd beat her to shit and had made an emergency appointment with Dr. Cutlippe because she was afraid of going to the hospital and having to tell people how she'd gotten the injury, even though every one in town already knew what she did for "work." _Or_ the times when she got so depressed that she simply refused to get up and care for herself. Cartman hated those times the most because he physically had to force feed her, and bathe her and listen to her poorly silenced, anguished sobs in the middle of the night.

Cartman almost seethed at all the shit he'd had to put up with for her and from her. He surmised that losing part of his childhood taking care of his loser of a mother was part of the reason he was such a twisted asshole.

Dr. Cutlippe gave him a sympathetic look. "Ok, if you really don't want his parents to worry until they get back, then at least take him to the hospital after they leave." Even as he said this, Dr. Cutlippe looked uneasy, as if it were going against his professional opinion to tell Cartman this, but he also knew that Cartman was incredibly stubborn.

"Ok, Dr. Cutlippe. I'll take him on Sunday." _Yeah, right._ Cartman smiled reassuringly. Dr. Cutlippe looked relieved. Just as he turned to leave, Clyde pulled up in Kyle's car, Craig following in his dark blue mustang. Dr. Cutlippe turned to watch the progression curiously, missing the dark look on Cartman's face. Dr. Cutlippe turned back to Cartman, who quickly turned his expression blank.

"Are those friends of yours?" Dr. Cutlippe asked curiously as Clyde got out of the car, looking tired and a little irritated. Craig exited his car, his expression mirroring Clyde's. They both hesitated at the sight of Dr. Cutlippe. Cartman smiled unassumingly.

"Yeah. I told them about Kyle and they're here to visit." He shot a meaningful glare at Clyde and Craig as Dr. Cutlippe turned to greet them. Craig rolled his eyes, indicating that he understood, but didn't appreciate Cartmanbeing so condescending. Clyde nodded slightly, then smiled nervously at Dr. Cutlippe as he approached them. Craig assumed his usual bored, apathetic expression.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Cutlippe. I'm Eric's doctor." He said pleasantly, extending a hand to each of the boys. Clyde shook it somewhat nervously, and Craig shook it briefly and grudgingly.

"Hi, I'm Clyde Donovan." Clyde said, a barely audible crack in his voice.

"Craig." Craig said boredly.

"Well, I was just patching up your friend Kyle. I'm afraid I couldn't do much on a house call, but Eric's assured me that he's going to take Kyle to the hospital soon, so he should be okay." That pleasant smile was still in place. Craig found it rather annoying. He also didn't believe for one second that Cartman was actually going to take Kyle to the hospital. He could tell that by Clyde's stupidly reassured face, however, that he did. Jesus, Clyde could be an idiot sometimes. He didn't even know why Clyde cared. It wasn't like they really hung out with Kyle and them anyway. Well, whatever.

"Ok, well, it was nice meeting you guys. Please be gentle with Kyle. He's supposed to rest for at least a couple of weeks." Dr. Cutlippe said, perhaps a little chastisingly. Clyde and Craig both nodded and muttered "goodbye"s as Dr. Cutlippe walked down the driveway to his white truck. Craig and Clyde walked up the short path to Cartman's door, and Cartman waited until Dr. Cutlippe had sped off before whipping his head over to glare at the other two boys.

"What the hell? You guys were supposed to be here a fucking hour ago." He said angrily. Clyde shrank back slightly, a bit wide-eyed.. The only change in Craig's expression was his eyes narrowing at Cartman.

"Hey, man. I said I'd be _there_ in ten, not _here_ in ten. You never said _when_ the hell we were supposed to show up, just that we were supposed to bring the car here." Craig said, handing Cartman Kyle's car keys. His blasé attitude pissed Cartman off, but he realized that if he expressed too much anger, Craig would get suspicious as to why, so he kept his expression dark and annoyed.

"Yeah, besides, that Officer Barbrady is a fucking idiot, man! It took us the whole hour just to explain to him why the guys were on the ground, then they woke up and we had to tell him why he had to arrest them. You sure worked that big guy over good, though. Damn." Clyde said, defensive in his nervousness. Cartman didn't understand why Clyde was so nervous. He really didn't have anything to do with this, although he did like to feel involved, so maybe he'd convinced himself that he was more involved in this that he really was. That or Craig had told him as much to shut him up. Cartman sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Whatever." He said. He reached into his back pocket and extracted his wallet, pulling out two one hundred dollar bills. "Here." He handed the bills to Craig and Clyde, even though he really didn't feel that Clyde even deserved that much, especially since Craig's going rate was so high, but Craig also insisted that since Clyde was his accomplice, he should be paid an equal amount. Even if he was a lazy, chicken shit little motherfucker who hardly did anything.

Craig pocketed the money without comment, while Clyde eyed the money curiously. No one really knew how Cartman got his money. All they knew was that he always seemed to have some, and a lot of it at that. They all suspected that it was something sinister, though, and perhaps it was just a bit. Craig and Clyde left, climbed into Craig's mustang and sped off. Cartman watched them go, then went back into the house, shaking his head at the imagined feeling of his lightened wallet.

_Fucking asshole_. If Craig wasn't so good at what he did, Cartman wouldn't even consider paying him such a ridiculously high amount, even for small jobs. Cartman suspected that part of what made Craig so good was a skill that even Cartman couldn't master; his unbreakable poker face. Cartman could exude calmness, but when he was put under a lot of pressure he got impatient and irritable, often times blowing up on whoever was pressuring him.

That was probably the one thing he envied of Craig.

He climbed the steps to his room and re-entered to find Kyle shifting incessantly on his bed. "The fuck's your problem?" He asked, somewhat agitated as he plopped down in his chair. Kyle turned to glare at him.

"Do you know how _not_ comfortable your bed is? It's dipping in the middle from your fat ass laying in it for so long. And where's my cell phone?"

"Jesus, you _are _a whiny little bitch, aren't you?" Cartman replied, ignoring Kyle's latter question by turning to face his computer again. He pulled up the window he'd minimized earlier and continued what he'd been doing before, as if nothing had happened to interrupt. There was a pause, but Cartman could sense that Kyle was just _bursting_ to say something else.

"Cartman, why am I here?" Aaaaand there it was.

"I told you earlier, dipshit." Cartman muttered, face still glued to the monitor.

"Fuck you, Lardass! That was a bullshit explanation and you know it." Kyle replied in ire.

"Yeah, but I figured it would shut your whiny ass up for a while. Speaking of whiny asses, your mommy says she's going to call you before they leave tomorrow. Now isn't that just _adorable_?" The last word was dripping with sarcasm.

"Good. I can get out of here, then." Kyle said, sounding self-assured. Cartman turned his head to face Kyle, a slow, malicious smile turning the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, I don't think so, Kyle. You see, since you're helping me with my Trig homework and I don't understand it _at all_, you're spending the night to help me. And since your parents are leaving tomorrow, and your Mommy doesn't want her precious little boys to be all alone in your big, scary house, I graciously offered to let you stay with me while they're gone. You're mom thought it was a _wonderful_ idea." Cartman said, quoting what Sheila had said earlier. Kyle's eyes widened impossibly as he stared at Cartman, worried, frightened, and possibly sickened.

Cartman revelled in that look of horror. Kyle forced his face back to normal.

"What about Ike? Where's he going? He'll know something's up when I don't come home."

"Ikey is going to stay with your aunt in Denver. And he already knows that you are staying the night, so he _won't _know something is up." If possible, Cartman's whole face twisted up in some kind of sick, sadistic pleasure. Kyle was thoroughly scared shitless. Kyle glared at Cartman to belie his fear, even though Cartman already knew and thought it pointless for Kyle to try and hide it in the first place.

"Where's my phone." It wasn't a question this time. This time he had purpose behind his voice, almost a threat. Cartman snorted derisively, pulling Kyle's car keys out of his pocket and twirling them around his finger.

"You really think I'd give you your phone now?" Cartman said. Kyle tried hard to keep the look of utter despair from his face. Cartman was truly in control. Granted, Kyle could bolt if he really wanted to, but with his injuries he wouldn't make it that far. And despite his large stature, Cartman was pretty fast.

Kyle slumped back against the headboard, staring at the wall opposite. Cartman watched him, eyes glittering and a smug grin on his face.

_Sweet._

"Man, I haven't heard from Kyle all day, other than that text he sent me earlier about Cartman's. I still can't believe he actually agreed to help Fatass out. That just goes against the rules of...everything." Stan said to Kenny, tilting his Guitar Hero guitar up to gain star power.

"Seriously, dude. What the fuck?" Kenny said, distracted as he concentrated on hitting the notes, kindof wishing that Stan would wait until they finished the round to start being all concerned.

"Has he texted you?" Stan asked.

"Kinda." Kenny said, not really hearing the question. Stan looked at him, some how managing to keep hitting the notes without looking at the t.v.

"Kinda?" He asked incredulously. Kenny furrowed a brow. He was beginning to get irritated.

"Yeah, kinda. Whatever. He texted me earlier." Kenny said, lifting the hand hovering over the whammy bar in a sort of wave to dispel Stan's comment. Stan stopped altogether and stared hard at Kenny. Kenny saw the notes flow through unbridled, and sighed. He put his guitar down and turned to look wearily at Stan.

"What." He said. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, you know how uncharacteristic it is for him not to constantly text. Something could be wrong. Do you care at all?" Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Stan. Of _course_ I care. Why are you being such a fucking girl about this, anyway? He could just be busy or something. God forbid he doesn't text his good old pal Stany every second of the day to assure him that he's still breathing." Stan couldn't believe Kenny. Was it really so wrong of him to be concerned about his best friend? Since when had that become a fucking crime? Stan's face screwed up in anger.

"You're being a complete dick, Kenny." Kenny and Stan stared at each other for the count of three, then Kenny dropped the guitar to the floor, picked up his backpack, and headed to the door.

"I don't need this shit. I'll see you later." With that, he left. He trudged angrily to his car, seething about Stan's accusation. It wasn't that he didn't care about Kyle, but he could only care so much when no one else gave a damn about _him_. He'd proven it time and time again with each time that he'd died and come back. After that whole Coon and Friends fiasco when they were nine, he'd finally convinced his friends that he _did_ die, and that he _was immortal. After that, they started remembering bits and pieces of times that he'd died, and now they remembered every time._

_However, with their remembrance came apathy. It affected everyone less and less each time Kenny died, and now it was to the point it had been before. Kenny would die, they would watch it happen and shrug it off, or occasionally, one of them would half-heartedly say "Oh my god, they killed Kenny. You bastard." But it was obvious that it had lost meaning for them. And Kenny as well. There was no point for Kenny to live anymore. He'd done pretty much everything there was to do, except travel. The two things that seemed to stay constant when he died were his age and his family's financial state._

_Hmm...maybe he could find a way to sell his body. Not for sex, he pretty much did that already for free, but maybe he could find a way to get paid to die. The pain of death had pretty much faded in time, and maybe there was a way people would pay to maim him. It was worth a shot. There was probably a lot of money in it, too._


End file.
